


Helping Hands

by dustlines



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel (Supernatural) is Not Okay, Episode: s08e07 A Little Slice of Kevin, Flashbacks, Forgiveness, Friendship, Garth's Houseboat, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Missing Scene, Season/Series 08, Supportive Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-22
Updated: 2013-01-22
Packaged: 2020-06-30 03:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19844290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustlines/pseuds/dustlines
Summary: Later, when he's feeling strong enough, Castiel finds Kevin and offers to fix his hand. Realizing that Castiel is struggling with something that neither of them fully understands, Dean tags along for emotional support.A/N: Takes place when Naomi was repeatedly abducting Castiel and removing from him the memories of it happening.Excerpt:Castiel looks up, meeting the jaded gaze of a boy thrust into greatness, but not pleased to be there. He can understand this, knowing well the pain and suffering that accompany being expected to be more than one is.





	Helping Hands

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Mild descriptions of Kevin's temporarily-missing finger.

* * *

The bitter scents of fish bait and boat tar fill the wind around Garth's houseboat, which is roped up amidst other ships floating in the same brackish, cold water of the shipyard. On the splintered wood of the dock, Castiel barely manages to conceal his shuddering. His hands are burning with cold, his nail beds are dry and flaking, and his teeth are chattering uncontrollably. For the past two days, he has been struggling to rejuvenate the Grace he depleted in his standoff against Crowley, and the process has been slow. Discomforts cover nearly every inch of his vessel's skin, but Castiel refuses to permit himself the relief of allowing anyone to hear of them. Even so, he suspects that Dean, who has not left his side since the moment they arrived at this place together, is attuned to Castiel's struggles all the same.

In front of them both on the worn planks of the dock, Kevin offers Castiel a wary gaze, the prophet's eyes expressing both a darkness and a fearfulness. He has his arms folded tightly to his chest, and unfolds them slowly. When he finally holds out his arm for Castiel to take, Castiel swiftly takes hold of his wrist and begins to unwrap the bandages surrounding the prophet's four-fingered hand. In the cold wind flowing over kelp-infested waves, Kevin winces at the touch and gives Dean a sharp look.

"Are you sure he can do this?" Kevin does not acknowledge Castiel, even though the angel is holding his hand and staring fiercely down at it. And why _would_ this prophet address him directly? The last time Castiel and Kevin had spoken to one another, Castiel was not quite sane, and the last time they had _seen_ one another, Castiel had collapsed on the floor and then needed to be supported while leaving the room. He can only imagine the doubts this prophet of the Lord must have about him.

Dean huffs in a manner that suggests he's annoyed with having to repeat his reassurances that Castiel will not destroy the prophet's hand.

"For the last time, kid," Dean seems to be as cold as Castiel is, the hunter's shoulders hunched beneath the canvas cloth of his jacket and his boots occasionally stomping against the worn planks beneath his feet to keep up the circulation in his toes, "you'll never be in better hands than his, trust me."

Kevin relaxes, but only slightly. When the bandage is completely removed from his hand, the stump of his missing finger is red and angry, a halfhearted, stringy scab struggling to cover the missing piece of himself. Castiel contemplates the injury for a moment, internally reassuring himself that he has enough grace in him to both heal this boy's hand and return Dean back to his motel room when they're done. He's not sure he does, but he's still going to try.

"Hold still." Castiel's own words rest jaggedly on his tongue, flavored like they are poisonous, and he does not know why they send a shiver up his back, as if they have somehow associated themselves with something personally negative for him. His brow furrows as he reaches into his memory to try to discover why, but there he only finds blackness. He is not typically drawn to experiencing unconnected associations. Unsettled, but aware Kevin is still not looking him in the eye, Castiel says, "Everything will be fine."

Kevin's gaze swings over to lash at him. "You trying to convince me, or yourself?"

Dean shifts at Castiel's side, his anger obvious. "Kid, do you want your hand fixed, or not?"

"It is all right, Dean." Now, Castiel does look up, meeting the jaded gaze of a boy thrust into greatness, but not pleased to be there. He can understand this, knowing well the pain and suffering that accompany being expected to be more than one is.

Between his palms, Castiel remolds Kevin's broken flesh without breaking his gaze with the boy. Something in Castiel's expression must be alarming, for Kevin's breath catches in his throat and they can only stand there, shivering in their too-thin clothes while the fishing boats start to sail back in with their hauls.

Finishing the healing, Castiel says, softly, "He does not know me as you do."

When Castiel releases Kevin's fully-healed hand into the cold air, the prophet does not lower his hand for several seconds, the peeking of the setting sun visible between all five, fully-formed fingers. When he finally moves them, it is to look in wonder at the flexing of his hand.

"Whoa," he breathes, and Castiel feels a certain pleasure expand through his chest at the knowledge that he is still useful.

"See there?" Castiel says, though he has to ignore a sudden tingling on the back of his neck. As though he's being watched, he feels exposed and on display, even though he knows they are alone here. "I fixed you." He tries to smile, tries very hard. The expression has often felt odd on his face, and he hopes it comes across as something less than terrifying.

Unexpectedly, an arm slings itself around Castiel's neck, weighing him down. Dean's laugh is a hot breath in his ear as the hunter leans into Castiel's side, even yanking him closer so that Castiel stumbles to stay upright. "Awesome job, Cas!" Dean points at Kevin as Castiel tries to right himself under the pressure of Dean's arm. "Now, what do you say to the angel?" Castiel blinks as Dean jabs him in the chest with a single, blunt finger, but before he can determine how to respond, Kevin nods and speaks up, sounding regretful.

"Thanks, really." Kevin rubs the back of his neck, gaze already returning to Garth's houseboat where it floats in the gentle waves of returning ships. "Sorry for not trusting you, I guess. It's been...well, it's been a crazy year." He looks back at his hand, in awe. "Wow."

"You hear that, Cas?" Dean does not pull away when Castiel lightly brings up a hand to clasp Dean's wrist where it dangles in front of his shoulder, trying in some way to adjust for the balance of the extra weight that is throwing him off. "Kevin's sorry for not trusting you."

Something heavier than his spoken words lies in Dean's voice, and Castiel cranes his head to determine what it might be. In Dean's gaze is a certain worry, the beginning of some sadness Dean may never allow to rise to the surface.

Castiel blinks, sudden understanding making his hand clutch hard around Dean's wrist as he realizes that Dean is talking about himself, too. As Kevin stands waiting, Castiel somehow manages to say, "He is... forgiven."

Dean's expression is a lesson in relief, smile beaming upwards like it's trying to catch the clouds in the sky. He squeezes Castiel's shoulders, just briefly, then lets him go. "Come on, let's ditch this fishy den of horrors."

The space left behind by Dean's touch is somehow warmer than it seemed before, despite Castiel's reduced ability to resist the cold. With a final nod to the prophet, who, surprisingly, graces Castiel with a pat to the forearm in passing, they part ways.

As he walks away, Castiel glimpses a rusty nail jutting up from one of the boards below. For just for a second, Castiel is blinded by a flash of white and feels pressure on his arms, as though a set of hands is holding him down. Momentarily, he imagines something jagged and sharp, drilling into the corner of his eye. Blinking in alarm, he stumbles backwards, which he then disguises by turning to look behind him. The setting sun is reflecting off the water, which slaps against the docks with enough speed to induce disorientation. The vision — however alarming — was merely an illusion.

Already halfway back down the dock and not having noticed Castiel's reaction, Dean calls out Castiel's name. The hunter waves him forward, and Castiel, feeling as though he is being chased by something he cannot see, speeds his pace to catch up.

.

2013.01.22

[.](https://dustlines.livejournal.com/5689.html)


End file.
